


Nobody of Consequence

by Altenprano



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen, OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altenprano/pseuds/Altenprano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new housemaid at Downton Abbey is more than just the subject of the scullery maids' gossip-- she's a mystery to the entire downstairs, mostly keeping to herself or keeping busy. Is there really more to her than she lets on, or is she what she says she is, nobody of consequence? OC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. All I own is Mairead, and that's barely.

There was a knock at the door, disrupting the silence that had settled in Mrs. Hughes’s sitting room, as the housekeeper herself busied herself with lodging arrangements for the friends of His Lordship’s who were due to arrive within the week. 

“Come in,” she said, only barely looking up from the paper before her.

The door opened with a quiet creak, as it often did, when opened slowly, and a young woman entered, the thankful smile on her face-- most likely directed at whoever had shown her the way, Mrs. Hughes decided-- settling into a more demure and polite expression. 

“How may I help you?” Mrs. Hughes asked, rising from her seat behind her desk, her gaze fixed on the young woman. Her voice was not unkind as she spoke, however, nor did it show the firm gentleness with which she spoke to the younger staff when they found themselves in her sitting room for whatever reason. 

“I was wondering if the position of scullery maid is still available, and if you would consider me as a candidate for the post,” the young woman said, her voice carrying a slight lilt to it. She withdrew two envelopes from her coat pocket, all the while maintaining steady eye contact with the housekeeper. “Here are my references, and I’m certain I can provide any other information you require.” 

“Of course,” Mrs. Hughes said. “Please, have a seat.” 

The young woman gave her a nod of acknowledgement as she seated herself across from Mrs. Hughes, folding her hands in her lap as soon as Mrs. Hughes took the envelopes. Her expression was one the housekeeper could only describe as completely and utterly neutral, though she could see the girl’s dark eyes sometimes dart to a corner of the room before returning to the housekeeper. 

She opened the envelopes and read through each of the two references-- one from her employer, a wealthy industrialist, and the other from the butler of her former household-- admittedly hopeful that this would be the right candidate for the post. What she found impressed her, and perhaps it would impress Mr. Carson, too, if he were to read the description of the young woman’s (whose name, she learned from the letters, was Mairead Hayes) character. Her employer described her as hard working and “the quintessential parlor maid: discreet, diligent, and by no means subject to temptation,” and the butler (a Mr. Phillip Harrison) said much the same, though he remarked on her difficulties having nothing to do with her work ethic or health, but with her interactions with the other staff. This didn’t worry Mrs. Hughes as much, as Mr. Bates was also-- as Mr. Harrison had put it-- “adverse to socialisation outside of that which was necessary for work,” and that hadn’t proven to be troublesome yet. 

Seeing a reference written by the butler astonished Mrs. Hughes, and if that was evident, Mairead gave no indication of having noticed it. Normally it was the housekeeper at the prospective employee’s former house who wrote the reference for incoming female staff, not the butler. Surely there was a story behind this, and Mrs. Hughes’s curiosity was certainly piqued enough to find out. 

Another detail that drew Mrs. Hughes’s attention was that Mairead’s previous post had been as a parlor maid-- the third of five-- at her former employer’s home. This brought another question to mind: why was she applying for a position much below her skill set here, when there was likely to be an open post in the next county? 

“Your employer speaks very highly of you,” Mrs. Hughes said finally, watching as the girl’s dark eyes lit up at the remark, and there was a brief moment of relief in her expression, as if she’d been expecting a different report. “I do, however, have a few questions, Ms. Hayes.”

Mairead nodded. “I shall endeavor to answer them as best I can, ma’am,” she said, straightening her back and letting her shoulders fall back a little. 

Mrs. Hughes pressed her lips together, deciding how best to word her inquiries. “May I ask why you’re applying for a position that is much lower than one you are certainly qualified for, if these references are an accurate representation?” 

“Certainly.” Now it was her turn to adopt an expression of thoughtfulness, as she thought through her answer, but it was barely two shakes of a lamb’s tail of silence until she spoke again: “I am applying, ma’am, because I wish to experience something different than my life in Manchester, and you may take that as you like. I don’t know much-- that’s for certain-- but I know that a life in service in the house of an industrialist who didn’t inherit his wealth and success is much different from a life in service in the house of a peer of the realm. I would like to experience this difference, though do not take me for a thrill-seeker. I want to work, regardless of my post, because my past employer, I think, is proof that you can always work your way up if you work hard enough.”

_She sounds like Mr. Branson,_ Mrs. Hughes mused, nodding as Mairead spoke. The way the young woman explained her desire to challenge herself-- another thing Mr. Carson would like, even if it were coming from a woman-- and experience the contrast she believed existed between wealthy industrialists and peers of the realm, she reminded the housekeeper of the former chauffeur. Their voices almost sounded the same, she realized, though Mairead was clearly accustomed to minimizing her accent, for whatever reason that may have been. Hopefully, this girl wasn’t as drawn to trouble as Mr. Branson had proven himself to be.

“I see,” the housekeeper said. “And would you mind telling me why the butler wrote your secondary reference instead of the housekeeper?”

At this question, Mairead seemed to freeze. 

_Oh dear, _Mrs. Hughes thought, seeing the girl stiffen as soon as she’d finished her question. _This will be an interesting tale for certain.___

“I wanted to avoid any talk of bias at my former household, and Mr. Harrison and the housekeeper agreed that it would be best if he wrote my reference instead,” she answered.

“Bias?” Mrs. Hughes’s brows knit together in an expression of polite confusion. “What nature of bias?” 

Again, Mairead seemed to freeze, and it was only after a brief hesitation that she answered. “My mother was the housekeeper in my former household, ma’am,” she said. “I didn’t think it would be fair to have the woman who raised me writing a letter for any potential employers regarding my character.” 

“I see,” Mrs. Hughes said again, folding the letters and putting them back in their envelopes. “Well, I’m very pleased, Ms. Hayes, and I certainly will make sure to inform you of my decision regarding the post. Is there any address that I can find you at, should I need to do so?” 

“I’m staying at Grantham Arms for another day, but then I will be back in Manchester, and there, my former employer’s address is the surest way to reach me, by care of my mother, Alice Hayes, or my older brother, William,” she said, standing as Mrs. Hughes rose to show her to the door. “Thank you very much for seeing me, Mrs. Hughes, and thank you for considering me for the post.” 

“Certainly, Ms. Hayes,” the housekeeper said, opening the door into the servants’ corridor. “Safe travels, and I’ll be sure to write you when the decision’s made.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Disclaimer: I do not own Doenton Abbey. I am simply borrowing.  
> So this is gonna turn into a collection of one-shots, I think, so maybe they'll be titled, maybe not. We'll see.  
> As always, thank you to everyone who reads this. It means a lot

The sun was just beginning to rise as Mairead carried the fire kit back downstairs, careful to set her feet down as softly as possible so she didn't risk waking any of the staff. All the fires upstairs had been seen to, leaving the downstairs to be prepared for the day, from sweeping the hall to baking the day's bread and starting the kettle for tea. The list of tasks was enough to make anyone balk, but Mairead knew, after nearly two months at it, that it wasn't as bad as some made it out to be. Work was work, and she'd been raised to take pride in her work, whatever it might be. 

She set the kettle to boil and began shaping the dough she'd made for today's bread, her light tawny eyes on her work. She knew the rhythm of this task well, having rolled and kneaded dough for her family's bread since she was scarcely six.

They'd lived outside of Dublin then, and everyone had to do their share on Aunt Ellen's farm, or find other work to support them, while Mairead's mother managed the house of an industrialist (where she would come to work in her twelfth year) across the sea. As a young girl, her tasks had been preparing meals alongside her widowed aunt, as well as helping to keep the small plot that passed for a garden and keeping an eye on her sister Lisabeth, who was a year or two old at the time. Her brother Will, who was a good year and a half older than she, left to join their mother as a stablehand with hopes to be a groom someday when she was eight, but Samuel, older than her by five years at least, stayed. He's never left Ireland, even when Mairead and her father went seeking work in England, once Mairead was old enough to work in a household. He'd visited them a few times-- Christmases and Easters, mostly-- but she'd written him nearly every day.

"Don't forget to set the trays for Her Ladyship and Lady Mary," she heard Mrs. Patmore say as she entered kitchen and sat herself down at the desk where she could often be found, going over shopping lists or the menus for the week ahead.

"Yes ma'am," Mairead answered, taking the finished loaves and slipping a few into the oven. The rest would be baked after tea was finished that afternoon, so it was fresh for supper.

She then directed her attention to procuring the necessary settings for the breakfast trays, having to fetch a stool so she could safely retrieve items from the china cabinet. It was all she could do now, really, with the bread still baking and Daisy still asleep-- though at this hour, the assistant cook really ought to be awake, Mairead thought. She arranged the settings carefully, heading to the small garden plot outside the kitchen to retrieve a small bundle of lavender and rosemary for decoration, as well as for a momentary break from the warmth she felt beginning to take hold in the kitchen. She'd open the high windows later, and let in a breeze once noon rolled around, and by then, work would be slow enough for her to be able to spare those moments.

"Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes want to see you when you have a moment today," Mrs. Patmore said without looking up from her work. 

"Do you know what for?" Mairead asked, risking a slightly more disrespectful approach, at least with her wording. She'd learned that Mrs. Patmore was not one to question, but a slight panic gripped her at the thought of an audience with Mr. Carson _and_ Mrs. Hughes. 

She hadn't done something she shouldn't have, had she? Surely not! She'd done as she was told, kept out of sight and silent, was more than willing with extra work, and she hadn't done anything _indecent_ with any of the footmen or hall boys. She'd barely so much as glanced their way since her arrival. 

The cook turned her attention on Mairead, her pen still poised above whatever document was being seen to at the moment. "You're not in any trouble, if that's what you're worried for," the woman said. "It's best you go as soon as breakfast is done with-- Daisy will see to clearing it, don't you fret-- so if they ask for a change of pace, it won't jostle you too much."

_Change of pace?_

Mrs. Patmore's words baffled Mairead, but the young woman held her tongue. At least she wasn't in trouble, if she could believe Mrs. Patmore, and she knew she could. Still, _a change of pace._ Whatever did that mean?

There was only one way to find out, and until that hour came, all Mairead could do was work like she always had. There was no use fretting over something like that, and life had to go on, even if the King himself called her to luncheon (which was as probable as her finding a gold ring at the bottom of a well or somesuch nonsense).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Even though she's an OC I'm ver familiar with by now, it's actually challenging to write up these chapters and think of how to translate her to actual fanfic.  
> Please leave any comments, questions, concerns, kudos, or random stories as you see fit. I aim to be as historically accurate as possible (especially in coming chapters), and I am not the most well-versed in the finer points of Irish culture/history/misc stuff or in European stuff in general, so feedback there is much much appreciated. Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope y'all stick with me and Mairead through this. I hope to get around to every character, and then some of Mairead's 3rd POV on things. You can read more about Mairead at mouse-of-eire.tumblr.com. Please leave any questions, comments, concerns, or random things if you have them. Thank you!


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